Crazy Ever After

Chapter Three

Travis stared at Samara across her bedroom. Being in this room with her was so not a good idea. He could not believe that after all these years she still had the ability to affect him this way. She was even more beautiful than she’d been as a teenager, now with a sophistication and polish she hadn’t possessed seven years ago, the expensive-looking little suit she wore hugging her slender curves. Much to his embarrassment, she’d caught him staring at her ass, so sweetly displayed in that snug skirt, and that bed right over there gave him even more dirty ideas. Get a grip, man.

“I think your father would have wanted me to look out for both of you,” he murmured finally. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. Yeah, right. If Parker weren’t already dead, he’d be having a stroke over the fact that Travis was standing in Samara’s bedroom alone with her. But for some reason, he felt protective of her, even though she was grown up now, and even though it had been seven years and she was apparently still pissed at him. Still hadn’t gotten over that night. Jesus.

And what the hell was between Samara and Dayna? He knew how Parker had agonized over the rift between them all these years and knew firsthand how hurt Dayna had been by her daughter’s refusal to come home, to barely talk to her. He’d been hard pressed over the years not to call Samara up and ask her what the hell she was doing, cutting herself off from family who cared about her. What the hell could have happened?

“I don’t need looking after.” Her little chin tilted up. “I can look after myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he murmured.

She stared at him, her huge hazel eyes gleaming with those unusual gold flecks. She was so like her mother in many ways. Although a little taller, she had the same fine bone structure, the same thick, straight auburn hair, a feminine face with high cheekbones, big eyes and a small, full mouth. Samara’s hair hung long down her back, with a swish of bangs she constantly pushed aside, where her mother wore her hair cropped short. Samara’s eyes combined Dayna’s emerald green with a ring of brown and flecks of gold in the unusual irises, surrounded by long thick lashes. Those eyes and that mouth. Ah, hell.

Travis shook his head. Memories assailed him of the guilt he’d experienced for wanting Samara so badly, knowing he couldn’t have her, couldn’t touch her, shouldn’t even think about having her. She’d only been seventeen, not even legal, for Chrissake.

Wanting her had nearly cost him everything important to him in his life.

“We should go back down,” he said abruptly, turning to the door.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she said. “I’d like to change.” She was likely still wearing what she’d had on when he’d called her at the office that morning.

He nodded and shut the door behind him. He stood there for a long moment, one hand still on her doorknob, the desire to shove back in there and jump her sexy bones almost overpowering.

He rubbed a hand over his face. Jesus. This was insane. Seven years later and he was still a horny kid with a hard-on for her.

He wished he could say he hadn’t even thought of her in the last seven years, but that would be a lie. Soon after that night everything had gone to shit, she’d left for college in San Francisco without even saying good-bye. And then had been the big blow up with Parker when Travis had been banished to Los Angeles.

At the time he’d had his own problems to worry about, and he hadn’t kept in touch much with Dayna. His interactions with Parker had been all about business for a long time, but as they’d gradually rebuilt their relationship, he’d learned that Samara never went home and barely spoke to her mother. Parker had never been able to find out what had happened between Samara and her mother to cause such a huge rift. It had baffled and hurt both of them. It must have been a helluva fight over something. Samara had been headstrong and stubborn and opinionated, but he couldn’t imagine what they could have argued about that would split up a family like that.

Travis shook his head and slowly walked down the stairs. As he returned to the den, he passed the empty dining room. How many times had he sat at that table across from teenage Samara, listening to her drive her father crazy with her quick wit and provocative statements? He remembered laughing, so entertained by their discussions—arguments?—thankful he wasn’t the one who had to deal with her, then wishing he was the one who had to deal with her. He’d shut her up by grabbing and kissing her until she had no breath left.

His gut feeling like a stone, as were other parts of his body, he found Dayna in the den, setting the cups on the tray to go back to the kitchen. She looked lost in thought.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up and smiled faintly. “Thanks again for being here,” she said. “I know this is hard for you too.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Christ. I can’t believe this.” He rubbed his chin.

“Samara looks so beautiful,” Dayna said softly, almost talking to herself. “So grown up. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.” He gnawed his bottom lip. “And she still seems to be uh...carrying a grudge.”

Dayna sighed, a small crease between her auburn brows. “Her father just died. She’s probably not herself right now.” Her defense of her daughter, even after how badly Samara had hurt her, made Travis smile. “But she’s here.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Dayna’s housekeeper Ava appeared in the French doors. “I’ll take that, hon,” she said, reaching for the tray.

“Thanks, Ava,” Dayna said.

“Dinner is ready whenever you are,” Ava added.

Dayna sighed. “I really don’t feel like eating.”

“You have to eat,” Ava said, her eyes clouding.

“Yeah,” Travis said. “And I, for one, am starving.”

“While you’re eating, I’ll go put fresh sheets on Samara’s bed.” Ava said. “Where is that girl? I haven’t even seen her.” Ava had worked for their family for many years and probably had missed Samara too.

“I’m right here.” Samara’s voice came from the door.

All three of them looked over at her. She’d changed from the business suit into a casual sundress in shades of orange and gold that flattered her pale gold skin and fiery hair. Christ, still so gorgeous.

Ava set down the tray and went over to pull Samara in for a hug. “Sammy,” she murmured. “How are you, hon?”

“I’m okay.” Samara’s voice came out sounding choked, and she hugged Ava’s plump form back in a tight, heartfelt embrace.

“It’s been too long, Sammy,” Ava scolded her, drawing back. She shot a glance toward Dayna. “I missed you.” Ava studied her and smiled. “Look at you, all grown up.” Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry about your dad, honey.”

“Oh, Ava. I’m sorry too.” They hugged again, and Travis’s heart shifted.

“We’ll talk more later,” Ava said, drawing back.

Samara gave a teary but still wry smile. “Okay.”

“You look beautiful, Samara,” Dayna said. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

She led the way to the dining room then stood there surveying the formally set table with sparkling crystal, china and gleaming silver. She paused. “I don’t want to eat in here tonight,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ava. Can we eat in the breakfast room?”

“Of course. I should have thought of that, with it being just the three of you. You’ve all eaten in the breakfast room so many times.” Ava quickly picked up dishes of food and whisked them back into the kitchen.

Samara picked up a place setting—a plate, cutlery and a water goblet—and followed Ava. Travis did the same. “Thanks,” Dayna said. “Sorry about this.”

“God, Dayna, don’t apologize,” Travis said. “There was a time when I ate here more often than I ate at my own home. I can help out.” He didn’t want to even think about how much he’d missed being in their home, being a part of their family. Except he really wasn’t part of their family, as he’d painfully learned.

She nodded and gave him a sad little smile.

In a few moments they were settled in the small alcove off the kitchen with cheery yellow walls and painted white furniture. A wall of windows looked out onto the patio and the yard beyond, clay pots overflowing with colorful flowers and greenery. The house faced south so the breakfast room received light almost all day long. Now the sun was lower in the sky, and the rich light made the flowers glow and cast long shadows across the patio and lawn.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Samara pulled out a chair and sat down, unfolding her napkin. Fatigue drew down her mouth and eyes. She must be wiped. She was putting up a good front, but this had to be killing her. She and her father had been close, despite living so far apart these last years. Even with the tension between him and Parker, and Parker’s reluctance to talk to Travis about his daughter, Travis knew Parker had kept in frequent contact with her after she’d left Portland. Parker had been so worried about her when she’d been traveling in Central America that year after high school, he’d gone to meet up with her in Brazil and in Matagalpa. When she’d started college in San Francisco, Parker had traveled down there to help her find a place and get settled. He’d been thrilled when she’d wanted to work at Cedar Mill Coffee Company after college, although frustrated when she’d insisted on working her way up on her own. Travis knew Parker hoped she’d come home to Portland and work there with him, maybe move into the executive ranks some day when she had more experience.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she smoothed the napkin over her bare knees, and he deliberately took the seat adjacent to her so he didn’t have to look directly at her. Dayna sat in her usual spot.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Dayna asked her daughter, reaching for a platter.

Travis’s stomach growled at the scent of the food. There’d been no time for lunch. After hastily rearranging his schedule and cancelling meetings, he’d flown from L. A. to Portland and had gone straight to the office there to make sure staff was all told what had happened and everything was okay. Many of them were in shock, especially Parker’s assistant, Paulette, who’d worked for him for fifteen years. Travis had sent her home.

Then he’d come here to see Dayna, knowing she would be devastated by the news, and waited for Samara to arrive, annoyed at how hungry he was to see her, how just hearing her voice on the phone that morning had aroused all kinds of memories.

“I’m not that hungry,” Samara said. “But it smells awesome.”

“Ava makes the best roast chicken,” Dayna said.

She helped herself to some of the meat from the platter and passed it to Travis. He piled his plate up and passed it to Samara, who took it without even looking at him. They all scooped up servings of the yellow beans and carrots, the tiny little potatoes dotted with parsley and gleaming with butter, and the golden lemony gravy that accompanied the chicken. Travis dug in hungrily but after a few minutes he realized the two women were just playing with their food, pushing it around, cutting it up and eating tiny bites.

He watched Dayna glance repeatedly at Samara, as if she still couldn’t believe she was there. “Tell me about your life, Samara,” Dayna invited softly. “Do you like living in San Francisco?”

“I love it,” she answered, pushing a piece of chicken around her plate. “It’s a wonderful city. There’s so much to do.”

“Well, it’s much bigger than Portland.” Dayna rolled her lips in briefly, looked down at her plate. “And your job? Are you enjoying it? Dad said you’re doing so well.”

Travis knew that. He, sadly, had followed every step of her career with Cedar Mill, from the days when she’d been a barista at the store on Northwest Broadway when she was still in high school. During college, she’d been a shift supervisor at one of their San Francisco stores, allowing her to work part time while going to school but still get to know the business from the retail ground up. After college, she’d started in the San Francisco regional office and had already been promoted a couple of times.

“It’s going great. I love working there.” Samara looked down at her own plate, her fork still.

“You always did have an interest in the business,” Dayna said. “And a passion for coffee. I’m glad it’s working for you.” She lowered her gaze to the table. “Your father was so proud of you. And I am too.”

Samara stared down at her plate mutely. Travis repressed a sigh.

Dayna changed the subject. “I guess tomorrow we’ll go the funeral home and make the arrangements.”

Samara nodded. “Do you know what kind of funeral Dad wanted?”

“No. He was only fifty-two years old. Who would have thought he was going to die?” Dayna’s voice choked a little bit. She paused, her fingers tightening on her fork. “I know he hates...I mean, he hated organ music. And he said once that he wanted a big party.”

Samara’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut. “A party?”

Dayna nodded. “You know what he was like.”

“I can see him not wanting tea and dainties in the church basement after the service,” Travis said. “More like a few bottles of Lagavulin and some dirty jokes.”

Dayna’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “True.”

“But...” Samara hesitated. “Okay, fine. Obviously, it has to be what he would have wanted.”

Dayna nodded. “We can have the party here. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I called the funeral home. The woman I spoke to was very nice.”

“The funeral director is a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Gia?”

Dayna’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. Gia Stephenson. How did you know?”

Samara smiled wryly. “That’s Gia Rizzuto. She married Brent Stephenson. I knew they owned a funeral home.”

“Oh, I remember Gia. You two were such good friends.”

“A long time ago.”

“Well. It will be nice for you to see her again, even if not under the best circumstances.”

Travis watched as their eyes met and connected, but Samara looked quickly away, blinking.

Travis licked his lips, flicking his eyes to Samara and back to Dayna. Why wouldn’t Samara just give in and let her mother comfort her, let them comfort each other? Ah hell, Parker. You weren’t supposed to do this. Pain lanced through him at the thought that Parker was really gone.

After dinner, they had coffee and dessert on the patio, but again he was the only one who even tried to eat the huge piece of strawberry shortcake. The late spring day was cooling off as the sun sank low in the sky. The trees of the woods were vivid shades of green and richly textured in the late evening sun. A squirrel sat high in a nearby tree, chattering agitatedly at something they couldn’t see. The fresh scent of cedar and pine drifted on the evening breeze.

It was like being in the country here. So unlike Los Angeles, his home for the last seven years. He lived near the beach, which was great for him with his love of surfing and sailing, but L.A. was a big city with pollution, crowded freeways and lots of concrete. This was quiet and serene, almost pastoral.

“You must be tired, sweetie,” Dayna said to Samara. “You should go up to bed. Ava has gotten your room ready.”

Samara nodded slowly and rose to her feet. “I am tired. I still can’t believe...” She looked at Travis. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral...”

He shook his head. “Oh, I’ll likely see you in the morning.”

“Travis is staying here too,” Dayna put in.

Samara looked at him, then at her mother. “How nice,” she said, her voice flat. “Well, good night then.” She gave them her back and stalked inside, closing the French door with a bang.

What the hell was her problem?